Whatever We Want
by gladiator59
Summary: Truman balcony shot.


**Hello to all of you and merry christmas! It's been a long while... I know, but life y'all know... anyway, I was cleaning my laptop and came across this shot I wrote over 2 years ago and decided to share it here. Smut isn't exactly my comfort zone but hopefully you'll enjoy**

"Fitz," she sighs, and it's a heavy, thick whisper as her voice goes raspy. Her head is falling back; it's heavy, her neck and spine barely supporting her at this point. Her heart is beating so fast it could come straight out of its place to finally burst into a million pieces. Because that's what he does to her. Every single time. And she smiles, a real, genuine smile that could shout her love for him had he not taken her ability to speak through all the moans and cries that left her throat dry.

She opens her eyes, marveling at the man, the only man really who can put a smile on her lips and lift away all the pain weighing on her. It's all about them, yet he makes it all about her; about her screaming his name and exploding into thin particles of pleasure in the vast extent of their love.

She had never been as sure as when she put her glass down, nervously at first, before plunging back into a cerulean ocean of love, of want, of pure admiration for her. He always had that look and even if it hurt to see the disbelief and slight admiration shining in them, she was glad he wasn't doing what she always chose to do- run.

She put the champagne glass down, taking his as well in the process, smiling inwardly at his question.

"Whatever we want."

"Whatever _we_ want?" he repeats, and she puts a slight but there smile on it as she wraps her hands around his shoulders, anchoring her body to his, shrinking the distance between their faces until they're nose to nose, slowly shifting her face to his side until her plump lips nearly make contact with his already-turning-red-ears « Whatever. We. Want, » she says, slowly, letting the leisure and want and need settle in as she inches her face back to facing him. He doesn't let the rotation finish as he dives all in for her lips, kissing every surface of the soft skin, sucking on her tongue, nibbling her bottom pouty lip with his teeth, barely even letting her breathe. Both suffocating in desire.

His hands make their way behind her knees, lifting her body, flushing it against his as an involuntary groan escapes his throat. And he's lost in her, feeling her nails scratch his scalp and pull his hair. And they both know; it's going to be a long night.

He stumbles towards the glass balcony door, roughly pushing her against it, his lips cascading towards one their multiple favorites, before latching to the side of her neck, succumbing once again to his favorite treat, letting her intoxicating smell explode his senses. And it's too much, hands fondling her sides and breasts, lips feasting on her neck, sending volts of electricity both a tease and preamble to what she knows will happen. She knows she won't sleep a wink. She knows she'll barely be able to stand up tomorrow. She doesn't have a single care in the world.

She doesn't know exactly how he managed it or how long he blindly walked them to the room, hell she didn't even know it was a room he got them into until the soft material of a comforter hugged her back. She felt empowered and mostly drunk in all her feelings, all the passion consuming every fiber and every blood cell running through her. Without warning, she mustered all her energy, or what was left really, and turned them, straddling him, a laughter-sob escaping the back of her throat as she felt him, heat radiating from him, thick against her as her hand made quick work of his belt, slack button and zipper.

"Liv- _fuck_ ," he groaned before she silenced him, hungrily attacking his lips as her hands flew to rip off his button down, any thought of actually unbuttoning them completely flying out the window, rhyming to the sound of buttons scattering around the bed. She wanted, no needed, him naked. Naked now, and so she did, ridding him of any trace of fabric, her hands gloriously landing on taut hot muscles and boiling flesh. Boiling desire. She's about to start returning all the favors he accumulated throughout the years when she feels her top leaving her skin, her bra sliding down her stomach and fingers toying with a wet satin covered crotch making fire explode throughout her body.

It's only at the wee hours, as his gentle fingertips cascade up and down the soft skin of her arms as lips periodically graze her forehead and hair that she breaks the peaceful silence, "we really need to soundproof some rooms in here."


End file.
